Getting What You Want
by mel1416
Summary: ElixFitz. Warning: SLASH! rated T just in case. And the title doesn't really make sense now but it probably will later on. PS This is my first story. Constructive critisim is appreciated
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Kiss With a Fist

EliEliEli. That was all he could think about. Eli at breakfast. Eli at lunch. Eli at dinner. Eli when he was trying to fall asleep. Eli in his dreams. Eli in his nightmares. The way Eli walked. The way Eli's voice floated out of his lips and made even biology term sound like Fitz's favorite sort of music. The way Eli's laugh filled his ears and drowned every other sound out. The way that just seeing him once made Fitz's day. Made Fitz smile. Made him want. He was infatuated. With Eli. The boy who hated him. Got him arrested. Made him puke. The boy who finally scared Fitz. The boy who put him on guard. Waiting and watching. EliEliEli. Not just waiting for the next attack but thinking. Why does Eli do the things he does? Why so much black? Why a hearse? And most importantly, why Clare? Fitz wanted to ask. Wanted to learn. Wanted to know. Fitz didn't just want to know, he wanted to experience. Wanted to touch Eli's hands. His face. His shoulder blades. Wanted to know about Eli. Eli had become his obsession.

Everything Fitz did was effected by Eli. Going to the Dot. What if Eli's there? Walking down this hall. What if Eli's there? In the cafeteria, looking for Eli. Everywhere. Not just to keep up with their game. But because Fitz needed to feed his hunger. He needed to see Eli. Needed to see the way Eli sneered and smirked and half-smiled. Plus he kind of needed to avoid Eli. He knew Eli knew his secret. Sure that sooner of later he would figure out the stares and see the thoughts rushing through Fitz's mind. Sure he would tell Adam. Who would tell Clare. Who would tell Ali. Who would tell the whole school. Who would torment him. Whose words wouldn't hurt as much as Eli's rejection. Eli telling him off. Eli saying he wasn't like that. Eli. Eli. Eli.

Soon Fitz realized he had to do something. He couldn't keep watching from afar. He couldn't walk by Eli again and feel his hands shaking to reach out and touch Eli's hands. He couldn't take anymore. So he acted. He was so frustrated. He couldn't understand his own feelings. All he knew was that he wanted to be with Eli. Touch his cheeks. Run a hand through his hair. That day he cracked. He saw Eli with Adam and Clare. He had to act. Had to do something. So he called Eli's name. Relishing the way it rolled off his tongue. And when Eli turned, Fitz punched him.

Looking back, it was one of the stupidest things Fitz had ever done. And that was saying something considering Fitz had done many many stupid things in his life. But when he pulled away he felt the places where his knuckles touched Eli's skin tingle. Then he felt Eli punch him back. Hard.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Therapy

That was the beginning of everything. The beginning of the fights and the games. The beginning of Fitz finally understanding Eli. Learning, though slower than he would have liked, about Eli. Fitz soon learned by both observation and quick, angry arguments that Eli had pride. Lots and lots of pride. Eli was clever. He soon learned that Fitz could beat him easily in hand to hand fights. So he sunk to trickery and deceiving. Eli liked to win. Not matter what. And Fitz was intrigued. Even more than before. Because for some crazy reason, Fitz was more attracted to Eli than he could have ever imagined. Now Fitz made an effort to walk by Eli in the halls. Because he could openly stare as long as he looked menacing on the outside.

Every time Fitz hit Eli or uttered threats under his breath he felt like shit. Then when he heard Eli respond in that snarky manner of his, Fitz felt angry. Not at Eli, but at himself. Mad at himself for liking Eli. Mad at himself for starting this mess in the first place. Mad at himself for actually hurting Eli. Then he forced himself to turn anger on Eli. Mad at Eli for being so damn attractive. Mad at Eli for the way he would yell back. Mad that Eli could fight back without feeling that familiar cutting and tugging at his heart.

So the fighting got worse and more often. Fitz was now more confused than ever. He only felt blind rage, lust, love and self-hate. A mixture that left a strong, sickly sweet aftertaste in his mouth. Feelings that could only be solved by touching Eli. And since affection was impossible, Fitz would have to solve things with a fight. A fight that would leave him sticky and sweaty. A fight that would leave him high off of Eli's touch and furious with himself. A fight that would leave that disgusting taste coating every inch of his mouth. That taste that would make him want to vomit and wash his mouth out with anything that would take the flavor away. And soon he found the solution.

Beer and parties. Every night he would find any party to go to and get wasted. In the morning he would remember only yelling and screaming and laughing and the smell of sweat, alcohol and floral perfume. And that was exactly what he wanted. The parties with their loud flocks of neon wearing girls and booze-stealing guys took his mind off Eli for at least that night. And sometimes if he was lucky part of the following morning too. The fact that the kissing and beer took that awful taste out of his mouth was an added bonus. The only problem with the solution was the hangover.

A hungover Fitz was irritable and aloof. His mind wouldn't work right and his eyes were half closed and dazed. He would walk into doors and people and would just grunt when someone would ask him a question. He couldn't think and would do whatever came to his mind first. No matter how stupid. No amount of coffee could wake him when he got bad. When the taste just wouldn't go away. When that face just wouldn't go away. He'd fall into a daze and the next thing he knew he had drunk a little more than necessary and he was numbly dancing with a girl in a miniskirt with long blonde hair and red lips that looked swollen from kissing. Did he get those lips swollen? He would stop in the middle of the song and stumble to the closest bathroom. When he looked in the mirror, his reflection was fuzzy. He would splash he face with water and ask himself why he was here. Of course he wouldn't remember, just see that face. The dark hair. The vibrant emerald mixed with forest green eyes. Those lips. He would stand there, trying to place a name on that face. Trying to understand why it was he just wanted to kiss those lips, cup that cheek and whisper sweet nothings in the boy's ears. Then he would shake his head violently and charge out of bathroom with just one purpose. Forgetting that face. Forgetting those lips.

So Fitz would chug a beer or two or maybe even something stronger, depending on how real and how perfect those lips looked. Then he would force his way back into the mob of jumping, sweating teens and loose himself again.

It was Thursday night. He was at another party. Tossing down any drink he could get his hands one. Seeking out girls with black hair and green eyes, full lips and androgynous bodies. Trying to forget that fight after school. The way his fist had split Eli's lip. The way Eli had given him a good hit in the jaw that would probably result in a bruise the next morning. The way both their bodies were slick with sweat and endorphins. The way it had felt to have Eli pinned between him and the school's brick wall. The way those lips were so close. So touchable. The way Eli's fist came out of nowhere and hit him in the throat. The way that hit made him double over and momentarily choke. The way Eli had punched him in the stomach and had kicked him when he was down. Fitz lying there, head resting on the cool concrete, panting and biting his lip, trying to get the pain to go away. The pain of the kick hurt like hell. But not nearly as much as Eli's indifference. How Eli had chuckled dryly, making that musical laugh of his sound harsh and walked off, scuffing his black boots on the uneven concrete. Now Fitz was really pissed. How could Eli do this to him? How could he be so fucking nonchalant about it? Fitz pulled himself off the harsh, unforgiving floor and half ran to grab Eli's arm. Fitz's head was clouded. He could just taste that sweet bile in his mouth and see Eli's back coming closer to him. He grabbed Eli's wrist just as he was about to turn the corner to the front of the building. He felt himself yank fiercely and watched Eli's body snap back into him. The way the front of the school disappeared as Eli's collar was suddenly bunched up in his fisted hands. The way those confidence-filled emerald and forest green eyes looked into his chocolate ones. How Eli looked so sure of himself. Sure that he had hurt Fitz too much for Fitz to actually fight back. He had been close. Maybe one more kick to the ribs would have done the trick but now Fitz was just infuriated. Fitz felt one of his hands let go of that black collar and clench into a fist. Felt the other one close tighter and push against Eli's porcelain neck. Fitz drew the fist back and slammed it into Eli's face. The hit would probably end in a black eye for Eli and guilt and self-hatred for Fitz. But Fitz couldn't stop. He let go of Eli and kneed him in the stomach. He watched as Eli doubled over, just like Fitz had a few minutes ago. But unlike Eli, Fitz couldn't being himself to kick Eli. He couldn't do it, not after he had done so much. All he wanted to do was lean down and pick Eli up. Cradle him in his arms. Stroke his hair and kiss up his temple. But he couldn't. So he just spit out a sorry, one only half coated in sarcasm, and walked away.

And that was how he ended up here. Dancing with scantily clad, skinny girls and drinking booze stolen from some kid's parents.


End file.
